Holiday Heartache
by dreamlitnight
Summary: A look at what it might have been like for the Winchesters after Sam went away to college. Holidays, spent without family. John/hurting, Dean/hurting and Sam/hurting. Set pre-season, before Dean came to get Sam. Lots of angst, not much Christmas cheer.


_**Disclaimer: Winchesters, no-ot mine.**_

_**A/N: Oh, I know the holidays are supposed to be filled with cheer, but this got stuck in my head and I had to write it. This is what I imagined one of the Christmas' when Sam was away in Cali, might have resembled. A little sad. Told in three POV's as labeled, how each of the Winchester men spent Christmas Eve. without the others.**_

**Holiday Heartache**

**John**

John sat slumped on the sagging motel bed staring at his blinking phone. He had a message from his eldest. Leaning back against the headboard, he let the hand holding the phone fall limply into his lap. He sighed in exhaustion. Christmas Eve. Dean probably just wanted to talk with him, touch base. They were supposed to meet up soon. John thought about all the reasons a good Father would be quickly dialing his son back. Who was he kidding? A good Father would have been with his sons for the holiday, not doing his best to avoid them. Make that, avoid one of his sons. His youngest, Sammy, wasn't interested in trying to contact him, just Dean.

John closed his eyes in an effort to block out the pain he was feeling and the pain he was knowingly causing. Holidays were meant to be endured not celebrated. He had done his best to show his boys this through his actions. What a sorry lesson to teach your kids. Those first few years, he had really tried to make sure the holidays, at least Christmas was celebrated in the traditional way, but the pain of that, without Mary had finally gotten to be too much. Every one of Sammy's childish squeals had been like a hot knife to his heart without Mary there to share it and every one of Dean's excited smiles, so like his mother's was more than he could bear. Christmas had always been Mary's favorite holiday. She had had such fun doing all the little things that made it special. John couldn't take it. He started making sure in "accidental" ways that he was always gone on holidays and later, even birthdays.

He made sure, he couldn't be reached and that it was a matter of "life and death" that could not be put off. Knowing how much he had hurt his boys, wasn't even enough to pull him back. He knew he had carved irreversible scars into his children. Scars that would never heal and never fade. Even that knowledge, wasn't enough. He also knew that he was a very selfish person, leaving Dean to fill in all those gaps John had left behind. Dean had tried to make life as "normal" for Sam as it was abnormal for Dean. He also knew that Dean probably wasn't doing so well without him or Sam to look out for.

But John just couldn't bring himself to try to right any of this. Mary wasn't here. Mary wasn't coming back. The only thing John wanted, was to kill that thing that had wrecked his family. With a smirk, so like his oldest son's, but missing the warmth Dean's usually overflowed with, John admitted that that monster had only started the wrecking process of his family. John had finished it, he had demolished what the monster had not. The broken Winchester family that was left, well that was all John's doing.

He flung the phone across the room, not caring if it shattered. He just didn't care. Mary was gone. John hugged his heartache tightly, allowed himself to wallow in it. It was much too late to fix this mess he had made. He would muddle through as usual. Meet back up with Dean in a few days when he had himself firmly back under control. John deserved every bit of the pain he felt. He deserved the way Sammy treated him, but he could never deserve the way Dean treated him. Dean would forgive him for forgetting him, as aways. What a sad thing to know about your son, that you could continue to hurt him over and over, even break his heart and he would still forgive you.

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**Dean**

Dean walked slowly down the nearly deserted was Christmas Eve., of course it was mostly unconsciously rubbed his bruised ribs, the poltergeist had not gone easily. He was tired and cold, he smirked as a loud growl from his stomach interrupted his grumbling, and very hungry apparently. Looking ahead he could see a storefront lit up in the darkness. He really hoped it was a diner. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checked it one more time for a missed call or message. He had called his dad and his brother earlier in the afternoon, hoping to at least hear their voices on this lonely day. This was his second Christmas without Sam and it wasn't any easier than the first one had been. He really thought it wouldn't bother him this year. Like he had soaked in enough misery last Christmas, and would just be numb or immune for this one. He huffed in annoyance with himself, frustrated that it still hurt him so much to be forgotten. He really should be used to it by now, his dad had missed almost every one of the Christmas' growing up. The few he had been around for, Dean was pretty sure his dad had lost track of the dates and was with by accident more than design. At least he got to hear their voices, well a recording, when he reached their voice mails. He closed the phone and shoved it roughly back in his jean's pocket in disgust at his neediness.

He hated when his feelings, the ones he was usually able to keep pushed away, got the better of him. Most of the time he kept all the hurt and brokenness on the outer peripheral of his mind, still there, still painful, but safely hidden from everyone except himself when he looked in a mirror. But every once in awhile all of it would push determinedly forward until it was all he could feel. The relentless ache of aloneness. He knew this was how it had to be. People left, so you just didn't let yourself care. Dean understood this fact but seemed unable to get his heart to remember this. It insisted on still caring for certain people and then insisted on cracking when each person left him behind. The fissures seeming to spread a little more with each abandonment. Sometimes he was surprised his heart was still beating with all the damage it had suffered.

Dean stopped walking, reaching up, he scrubbed a weary hand down his face as though he could stop all this maudlin nonsense. As though he could erase the ache from the outside, push it all back to its place, in the background where it belonged. He sighed, shoving his hands back in his pockets and continued toward the light. He was fine. Sure he was. Even he didn't believe the oft told lie tonight.

As he drew near, the door burst open spilling a group of laughing, jostling friends out into the damp, cold night. Two of the girls spotted Dean and paused to smile and wave flirtatiously, wishing him a Merry Christmas before some of the guys pulled them along in the opposite direction. Dean returned the smiles but not the well wishes. Morosely, he imagined Sam was probably with a similar joyous group of friends in Cali. Not missing his brother or his dad. Enjoying the holiday, forgetting his family. Trying to have "normal". Dean didn't understand how Sam's idea of normal, included cutting family out of your life. Guessed he never would. He sighed, wearily.

When he entered the building, he saw that it was a little more upscale than his usual eating establishment, but still casual enough for the way he was dressed. It was warm and he shivered slightly, just realizing how chilled he had become on the trek from his motel room. As the hostess greeted and seated him she smiled in invitation, Dean's smile was only friendly in return. She gave in with good grace and brought him coffee and then took his order for steak and mashed potatoes.

Sitting back, he relaxed, enjoying the mood of the place. It was dimly lit, each scattered table set with flickering candles and Christmas music provided a subtle background filler. Above the music, the cheerful sound of people laughing and talking could be heard. It surrounded him, bringing a strange sort of peace and a soothing balm to the heartache he felt. He closed his eyes for a moment enjoying the sensation of being around happy people. Even though he was not a part of the happiness, it felt good to be in the midst of it. Most people he had contact with, were dealing with fear or grief. Happiness seemed to be a rare commodity these days.

Suddenly he noticed a hush come over the room. He opened his eyes scanning to see what had happened. He saw immediately what had their attention. A spotlight had come on, shining on a slim figure in a red sequined gown walking towards a gleaming black grand piano off to side of the room. Dean was near it but hadn't paid much attention to the silent instrument when he sat down. Now he watched as the woman came closer. She wore her dark hair swept off her neck in a swirl of complicated curls and on her feet were impossibly high heels, matching her dress. Dean loved red high heals. An appreciative smile lit his tired face. She turned to the audience giving a soft smile before seating herself gracefully and presenting her profile. She began playing an old Christmas song his mother used to sing. Dean wondered if she would do it justice. When the first notes filled the air, the whole audience seemed to breathe out in a rush simultaneously. Her voice was husky and smoky. It seemed to fill up all the empty spaces bringing energy and life. The words wove stories of love and loneliness, with children's laughter and reindeer games, of promises of snow and making it home for the holidays. Dean lost himself in the moment. Her voice, it was magic. All the laughing and talking was hushed as she sang. She moved seamlessly between songs, creating a bittersweet mood. Kind of like happy tears.

She had been meeting Dean's rapt gaze more and more often as she sang. As if there was some magnetic force that kept pulling her back. The first time their gazes locked, Dean had to catch his breath when she looked away. It felt like she was singing just for him. He was totally focused on her as the rest of the world ceased to exist. As the last note faded away, Dean felt bereft. He hadn't wanted it to end. Then without his permission, the world started up again and he was back in it. He watched sadly as she left the stage, accompanied by deafening applause. The spotlight went off, the Christmas music came back on and the sounds of happy conversation once more filled the room.

Dean finished his meal in thoughtful contemplation. His mother would have loved listening to her. Most of Dean's memories of his mom were vague and shadowy. He only had a few vivid ones and the few he had, he kept to himself. Not even sharing them with Sammy. He could remember the spicy scent of cinnamon and her softness, like when she would hold him pressing her cheek to his. And he remembered her voice, tenderly crooning in his ear as she rocked him. She had a beautiful voice and she always sang old songs. Songs Dean had discovered when he was older. He had a few tapes of them now that he listened to, now that he no longer shared the car with his dad or brother. He had always kept these few things just for himself, holding them tightly, when he didn't think he could go any farther. It was always the memories of his mom's love that gave him the strength to get back up and move on. Sweet memories of her that kept him hunting evil and helping people. He knew that she would want him to help others. And so he did. Not because his dad told him to, as Sam had always believed. He did it for his mom, to make her proud.

He knew his dad loved him and Sam, but he had also learned early on, that he and his brother were very low on their dad's list of concerns. Dad had let the need for revenge consume him. Dean figured that was how his dad kept going, he concentrated on the hunt and put all his feelings and grief in a box with a tightly sealed lid. So, Dean and Sam were only noticed if there was a problem, such as sickness or an injury. And even then, their dad meted out comfort with a stingy hand. So Dean had worked at giving Sam all the care and attention, Dean himself had secretly craved. It meant that he felt very alone at times. He sighed, pushing his plate away, that was the past. No changing it, no fixing it. Pulling on his coat he headed toward the exit to pay and then be on his way back to his empty room. The same empty room that had driven him to seek out the company of others for awhile, even if only as an observer.

As he approached the door, a small woman dressed in worn jeans, low healed boots and a heavy black coat and bright scarf met him with a warm smile. Dean paused a moment before recognizing her as the singer he had been trading heated glances with from earlier. Her hair was down now, a thick mass of mahogany curls just tempting Dean to bury his hands in it. An invitation was issued. An invitation was accepted. Names exchanged. Chantal, French: to sing. Dean thought that very appropriate. She was on the petite side he noticed now that she wasn't wearing heels, her head only reaching his shoulder. He clasped her hand as they stepped out on the sidewalk. The soft dainty hand enclosed firmly in his calloused larger one. She turned her face up to his, laughing softly at one his sly comments. Her eyes sparkled, in happiness. Dean's own eyes lit with a subtle happiness. She was just as alone as himself and Holidays were meant to be shared not suffered through in solitude. For tonight they would not have to endure the cacophony of sad _what if_ thoughts, that tended to bombard you when you were alone. He doubted either one of them would share their sad stories with the other, but sometimes words were overrated. Sometimes just being with someone, the warmth of a touch, a shared smile, the sound of another person softly breathing next to you, was enough to keep the despair at bay.

Dean caught a hint of cinnamon on the cold breeze. He stopped, glancing around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She looked up at him in question. Dropping her hand he placed a strong arm around her narrow shoulders and pulled her snugly to his side. He ignored the twinge of his sore ribs and resumed their pace. She snuggled close and Dean glanced heavenward. He didn't believe in all the heaven, angels looking out for you stuff, but maybe for tonight at least. Maybe his mom was looking out for him. Maybe she saw that he needed some caring for and she was watching out for him. It was nice to pretend that that could happen, at least for tonight. Tomorrow was soon enough for harsh reality to once again intrude. He felt the keen stabbing ache that had pushed forward, retreat sightly. The sharp edges, dulled and he felt just the tiniest sliver of hope take its place.

Holidays weren't meant for heartache, there was plenty of that to fill up the rest of the year. Holidays were meant for sharing a little bit of joy, if you could find it. Dean latched onto that little bit of joy, he was being offered, determined to not let any of it go to waste.

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**Sam**

Sam entered the bedroom, switching on the light, still smiling. Christmas Eve with Jess was amazing. It had been weird, these last few days doing "normal" holiday things, like shopping, decorating their apartment and sending out goofy Christmas cards. Holidays used to mean Dean trying his best to cheer up Sam and make excuses for why Dad wasn't there, again. He was only now coming to realize that Dean probably suffered more during the holidays than either him or his dad. All Dean ever wanted was their family together. That wish was rarely granted on the holidays and when it had been, Dean had to constantly play peace maker, to the two of them.

Dropping his jacket on the end of the bed, he checked his phone, which he had forgotten to take with him that evening. There was a message from his brother. His smile dimmed as he checked his voice mail.

"Hey Sammy, I mean Sam," Sam smiled at the correction. His brother always tried to give him what he wanted. Too bad Sam wanted a normal life that he couldn't seem to fit his brother into comfortably anymore. "Yeah just uh, wanted to see how you were. I'm sure you're doing great, probably having fun with all your college geek friends. Well, guess you're too busy to talk to your brother. We're doing good. Lots of stuff to do and all that. Ya know, no rest for the weary or wicked." A soft chuckle. "Uh.... have a good Christmas little brother. Call me sometime, ya know if you ya have a minute or whatever."

With a sigh, Sam saved the message, to listen to again later. That deep voice brought a secret feeling of home that he needed to hear sometimes, even if he could only accept the recorded version. He heard the sadness layered under his brother's fake cheeriness. He was always able to tell when Dean was faking. He really didn't mean to ignore Dean's calls, it just always seemed easier to, well in the end ignore them. Sam loved his brother, he did. Dean had practically raised him and leaving him had been almost more than he could do, but he had and he could not go back. He would not get sucked back into that life. It was simpler to pretend that his family was normal and that he would make time for them soon. He grimaced "Out of sight, out of mind", seemed to be his mantra. He wasn't being fair to Dean, he understood that. But the fierce love coupled with the heavy load of guilt that he felt every time he thought of his stubbornly loyal big brother was something he didn't want to deal with.

He set the phone carefully back on the dresser, whispering sadly, "Merry Christmas Big Brother." Hearing Jess calling him, he flicked off the light and left his heartache in the dark.

_**The End~ Thank you for reading and reviewing. Reviews are like coveted snow on Christmas morning. ;0)**_


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